As the title character, Dmitri Hvorostovsky (center) shined alongside Barbara Frittoli and Roberto De Biasio under James Levine's conducting. Photo: Marty Sohl/Metropolitan Opera

No sooner had the cheers faded for James Levine’s arrival at the Met podium Thursday than a shout rang out from the balcony: “Bravo, maestro!”– sparking a second ovation warmer than the first.

Pre-performance applause often signal gratitude for past glories. In this case, it was only a preview of the stomping and cheering following that night’s performance of Verdi’s “Simon Boccanegra” — well-deserved acclaim for a masterpiece of conducting.

From the first notes of the pensive prelude, the Met orchestra reveled in Levine’s distinctive Verdi sound, rich without heaviness, stately but flexible. The impressionistic “dawn” musical opening in the first act glinted like a silver thread, and the brass climaxes of the Council Chamber scene thundered with heavy-metal intensity.

Even more impressive was the maestro’s sensitive collaboration with the singers, particularly Dmitri Hvorostovsky as Boccanegra, the populist ruler of 1300s Genoa targeted for assassination. The Russian’s rough-hewn baritone, more brownstone than granite, turned sweetly lyrical for a duet with his long-lost daughter, later darkening to a strangled gasp for his death scene.

Only in the big ensembles did he disappoint: His voice lacks “squillo,” the trumpet-like brilliance that cuts through a Verdian wall of sound. That’s exactly the quality in which Simon’s two enemies excelled, with veteran bass Ferruccio Furlanetto as Fiesco and Italian baritone Nicola Alaimo, making his debut, as the scheming Paolo. His showstopping performance in his brief scenes suggests he’s ready to graduate to the opera’s title role.

Another debuting artist was Roberto De Biasio, subbing in on only a few days’ notice for an ailing Ramón Vargas as the nobleman Adorno.

With his dark, muscular tenor, he held his own opposite the confident Amelia of Barbara Frittoli. Here, as Simon’s daughter, she deployed her edgy soprano with exquisite musicality, nailing even the tricky, offbeat phrases often flubbed in the final scene.

The Met’s chorus, perhaps distracted by rehearsals for the upcoming “Nixon in China,” sounded uncharacteristically ragged. Meanwhile, Giancarlo del Monaco’s 1995 production remains a monument to the worst excesses of Joseph Volpe’s regime, leaving the audience sitting for minutes at a time while one pile of massive faux masonry is noisily exchanged for another.